Thursday, February 27, 2014

Holy Shit Balls

I hope my title did not offend you, it's just that I'm simply trying to convey my reaction when I looked down at that sad looking little piece of plastic that I had recently peed on a cold and dismal January morning and saw two lines starting back at me.

"Holy shit balls" 

There simply can't be two lines...there are never two lines...things that Janet pee on don't produce two lines, only one line. Janet's hostile uterus had rejected all previous attempts to be occupied so those two lines must be some kind of mistake. 

I went about my day. 

Next day...two lines a little darker.

Third day...two lines yet a little darker. 

Funny universe. Very funny. You are such a cruel tease. This is what I was telling myself. I was preparing, perhaps even trying to protect myself from what I believed to be, the inevitable, heart wrenching disappoint I had gotten used to. 

It's now Monday, January 6th and on my way to work, I stop in an buy a digital test. I clutched said test tightly in my hand all the way to work and take it as soon as I drop my things at my desk...

Cue more "Holy shit balls"!

I hadn't seen a positive on a digital test since December 2011 and we all know how that turned out. To be honest...I still had doubts. All of the negative emotions welled up and threatened to overcome the joy I felt at seeing 'Pregnant'. I sat at my desk trying to decide if I wanted to go through the torture of a beta draw. My period was still a few days away so I'll wait until I'm late. I see sawed back and forth before finally making a decision. 

Beta it was. 

First beta at 10 days past ovulation was 34. Progesterone was 116. I’m pregnant. But whoa, reign yourself in…my clinic was not confident in this number and advised me things could go either way. Repeat beta 3 days later.

Second beta at 13 days past ovulation was 200. Progesterone was 99. I’m pregnant. But whoa, reign yourself in…my clinic still wasn't happy as they wanted to see a beta of at least 400 and reminded me that things could go either way.  This didn't make a lot of sense to me, I thought there was a great increase in 3 days but I held back my excitement just in case…I know how these things can go. Let’s redraw in five days.

Third beta at 18 days past ovulation was 2, 318. Progesterone was 81. I’m pregnant. No whoaing this time, no reigning myself in…my clinic was very happy with this number and for the first time I heard those beautiful words “Congratulations Janet, you are pregnant”!

We scheduled an ultrasound for the next day at 19 days past ovulation and saw this…
One beautiful gestational sac in my uterus.

Second ultrasound five days later showed this…
One beautiful yolk sac.

Third ultrasound ten days later showed this…
One beautiful 8.2 mm fetal pole with a heartbeat!

Fourth ultrasound five days later showed this…
One beautiful baby that’s grown from 8.2 mm to 14.1 mm with a heart rate of 161.

Holy shit balls…there really is a baby in there!

Fifth ultrasound at 9 weeks 0 days showed this…
One beautiful baby that’s grown from 14.1 mm to 23.2 mm with a heart rate of 176.

Graduated from my fertility clinic.  

To be continued...

FYI - Beta at 6 weeks 1 days was 37,042. Progesterone was 71.4 and beta at 8 weeks 0 days was 164,116. 

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

You don't need to tell me that I'm not your cup of tea. I am well aware that I'm not a cup of tea, dummy.

Monday, February 24, 2014

A Glimpse Inside My Brain

Surreal...I don't know how to turn “feels surreal” into a noun. My brain is a little sluggish these days. However you describe it, my pregnancy feels very surreal right now. This is not to say I don’t understand there’s a baby coming. It just feels a little bit like a game of just pretend right now. So in light of this...I haven't quite been able to cobble together a pregnancy related post so in the meantime, I give you this...

Someone recently said to me (after reading one of my nonsense facebook updates)..."I wonder sometimes what really goes on inside that brain of yours". Well my lovely's a glimpse...

I've been thinking about Ewoks. You know Ewoks, right? Those furry little dog-like/bear-like creatures from Return of the Jedi that lived on the forest moon of Endor? 

So anyway, I love them and I was just sort of daydreaming about Star Wars and how awesome it would be to have an Ewok. 

Think about it....seriously think about how much more awesome your life would be if there was just an Ewok with you right now.

So anyway I made a list of why I think that Ewoks would be the best pet-friend ever.

  • Ewoks are cute. Obviously. Ewoks look a lot like bearded dogs (Schnauzers, Brussels Griffons, Other Breeds of Dogs With Beards, etc) but unlike bearded dogs they also look like teddy bears but they are furrier and therefore cuter. They also kind of look like both gremlins and Furbies but are one hundred percent less scary than either because, as this first point is all about...they are really cute.
  • Ewoks can talk. Yeah you can actually communicate with an Ewok. I mean it’s going to speak a different language from you so unless you are fluent in Ewokese than you’ll have to do a lot of miming or suggestion through physical movement, but either way it will be a lot more communication than you have with a dog. And also whatever it is they are saying sounds adorable.
  • Ewok babies are mini Ewoks, and thus have a cuteness that is too insane to comprehend and write down in words and just thinking about it makes my stomach hurt almost because they are like horribly disgustingly cute!
  • Ewoks love to party. Spoiler alert guys, but at the end of Return of the Jedi the Ewoks have a party and it’s awesome with cool tribal drumming and dancing and hip-swaying and bopping on stuff and general cheering and it’s in this giant treehouse complex with bridges in the forest and it looks straight up awesome.
  • Ewoks can save your life. Not only do I mean this in a literal sense, because an Ewok could hijack a large AT-ST Walker and/or a speeder bike and/or murder someone with a spear, but I bet if you were super bummed and feeling aimless in your life and you had a lot of questions about what to do and your future and other common existential crises and then you got an Ewok you would just be so stoked to be hanging out with an Ewok all the time that you’d feel better.
  • Ewoks fend for themselves. Unlike a dog or cat an Ewok could definitely get themselves a car and drive to the store and go get their own food on their own dime. Like you wouldn’t have to worry about that, which is super awesome when you think about other possible pet-friends. They could probably also use a toilet which sounds one hundred infinity times better than picking up dog poop seven times a day.
  • Ewoks are from outer space. Ewoks’ native habitat is the forest moon that circles Endor, so in other words they are extra terrestrials and that means you have an alien for a pet-friend. That’s just so incredible on so many levels I’m just going to leave it right there. Alien.
  • Just because.
  • Ewoks have a real sense of self. This might seem a little abstract but think about how committed they are to their religion and raising their kids and telling stories. It’s great because we, as a separate culture, can access just how rich and complex their culture is, thanks to not one but two made-for-television-movies about the Ewoks and also the animated series Star Wars: Ewoks!
What about you love Ewoks too?

Friday, February 21, 2014

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Much Love

Thank you to each and every one of you for the lovely messages of love you sent my way. Adam and I are are so very, very grateful. 

Much love, 
Janet & Adam

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Keeping Secrets

I've been keeping a secret.

I'm not even going to make you wait. I'm just going to come out and say it.

I really don't like when people say, "Hey, I have news" and then ramble on for fifteen minutes about how they didn't know how to tell you, and would you like the good news or the bad news first.

I mean, if you don't know how to tell me, then maybe you should have thought about it a little bit more before you brought it up, because now I'm just sitting here waiting while you find the perfect words to share news that...let's be honest...probably doesn't impact me in the slightest.

And as for the good news/bad news question? What do you think? If you're really asking, I'd rather not hear the bad news at all. Because who wants to hear bad news? Unless it's just "bad" relative to the good news, but not really all that bad in its own right, well then I guess I wouldn't mind hearing it. And I might like to hear it first because it might seem pretty decent until I hear the actual good news. Whereas if you share the relatively "good" news first, then the relatively "bad" news is just wasted news because who cares about not-so-great news when compared to particularly-good-news? No one. No one cares about the "bad" news. We all just want the good news.

What were we talking about?

Oh right.

I have news.

I don't really know how to say this...

Well, do you want the good news or the bad news first? I'm going to give you the good news first, and then validate it by adding my own personal flavour of cynicism.

The Good News
Right now, at this very moment, there is a very tiny being growing inside my body. A human being. I mean, it isn't an alien being or something. Although from what I can tell, it does have a very large head and tiny little T-rex arms.

Yes, I'm pregnant. I've been reluctantly keeping it from all of you (not to mention my closest friends and family) for way too long. I don't know if you guys know me at all, but I don't exactly keep secrets very well. I'm a sharer.

Going along with the good news is all the excitement!

But. There is bad news, and it is simply not like me to hold it in.

The Bad News
Very limited rock climbing this summer but I have a feeling I'll deal just fine.

Due - September 18th, 2014

Friday, February 14, 2014

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

Sometimes I get frustrated because you can't put numbers in caps. 44. Am I screaming? You'll never know.

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Childish Adult

Have you ever found yourself on the verge of making some major adult decision, such as...

Should I buy the generic Nutella, or can I really afford the name brand? Do I really need to take out the trash this week?...and while standing there, you think, “Janet, wouldn't it be great if I were seven years old again and didn't have to worry about any of this adult crap?”

I think that - literally - all the time.

Don’t get me wrong, most of the time I do enjoy being an adult. I like the independence of paying my own bills and the ability to have a glass of wine with dinner. I enjoy having conversations with my parents and relatives as equals, and I like having a basic life plan. But sometimes I just want to say screw it and, instead of inquiring about so-and-so’s new house or so and so's new baby, put on a pair of fairy wings and take off running into the yard.

Seriously, how awesome was being seven? When I was a kid, my best friend was a girl named Patricia, whose mother Sharon was pretty artsy (she also loved scary movies - this scarred me). She would kick us out of the house some days because she needed some "quiet time". When this happened, we were banished outside for what seemed like hours. But as kids? No problem! Outside was where we learned to use our imaginations to create vast landscapes to accompany our playtime games of school or house or personified cats who climb trees and hiss at passers-by. When it rained, we covered our skin with mud and played day spa. (“Oh dah-ling, I am just so relaxed. Aren’t you?” This may also be where I began learning to fake accents.) We pushed each other on the swings, higher and higher...trying to reach the sky. When the sun started to set, we chased lightning bugs, calling them the source of all magical power. When the streetlights came on, it was time for me to go home.

Sometimes I miss bein
g 7.

Monday, February 10, 2014

Excuses, Excuses

We've all been there. You’re supposed to do something. You’re not going to do it. But you can’t say, “Hey I'm not going to do this because I don’t want to.” I've tried that, it doesn't work. So here are a few underused excuses for those times when you've had one too many “family emergencies”...

My house/apartment is haunted - This is great because it’s so open ended. What does it mean? Does it mean that you didn't get a good night’s sleep because a ghost widow from WWII kept you away all night crying, “Johnny, where’d ya go? We were gonna be together forever, Johnny!”? Does it mean that you’re busy getting your house ready for a team of priests or ghost investigators? Does it mean that you’re in the middle of moving? Who knows! It’s such a wacky excuse it’s bound to work.

I fell down - Just leave it at that. Let their imagination fill in the rest.

I spilled [vinegar/gasoline/arsenic/your choice of liquid] everywhere - You can’t just leave your house if acid is seeping into the carpet. That’s the kind of thing you really need to clean up. You might even need to call in those dudes in those suits, like the ones who captured E.T. and then put him into a tent and then I turned off the tape and tried not to cry. From what I've heard, the movie ends on a happier note.

A tree fell on my car - This one is tricky because for the next few days you’re going to have to borrow someone’s car or be expected to take public transportation. And then you need to wait the right amount of time for you to drive your car again. You know, factor in how long it would take it to get repaired. This excuse is what I call a “Costanza.” It’s very complicated and crucial that it’s pulled off right. Use in a real emergency only.

I have diarrhea - This one is gold because no one is going to question you. It’s a magical word. You actually don’t even need to say “I have.” Just text “diarrhea” or call into work, say it and hang up and you’re set. Because why would someone fully admit to having diarrhea or lie about it? It’s perfect.

Friday, February 7, 2014

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

Took the sticker off a banana, put it on my shirt and said, "I hereby deputize you to uphold the law in Bananatown!". Now everyone is looking at me funny.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Did You Have A Nice Trip?

I don’t know if it’s because I have genetically weak ankles or the ground I’m walking on has it in for me, but I’m constantly rolling my ankles or tripping. Not a big trip where I fall flat on my face, just a small stumble that makes me feel clumsy and foolish. These trips can be awkward if they aren't handled gracefully, so I’d like to share some tips so you can be what you've always wanted to be...the smoothest walker on the street.

Laugh - If you are with friends, this is easy. Just turn to them and laugh, as if you were stumbling for their amusement. Even if you are in pain, keep laughing. You can even laugh until you cry, then pretend you’re fake crying and it’s part of the joke. Slapstick humor never gets old.

If you are alone, pulling this off may be harder. Laughing and smiling to yourself makes you look like a crazy person and since you've already proven that you’re clumsy, you really don’t want to add mentally unstable to the list. I suggest making eye contact with the strangers around you in the hopes that they noticed your trip. Turn to them and smile. You could say something like, "Look at me." Then laugh coyly, before turning super serious. "No, really, look at me...that was the first time I've ever tripped in my whole life." You could always play up your adorable brand of no-fault clumsiness by laughing, then saying, "Psshh, stupid shoes." Or "Psshh, stupid sidewalk." The use of the sound "psshh" adds a sense of playfulness and confidence. Yeah, you tripped, but does it really matter? You’re adorable.

Distract - What I've started to do...and it’s been working for trip and smile to myself, then get out my phone and pretend to text people. I've discovered that looking busy after tripping makes the tripping seem unimportant. Actually, it’s even better than that, because not only does it shift blame and minimize importance, it makes me look like I’m extremely popular.

Dramatize - This is a bold move, but why not go all out with that trip? Commit to really falling to the ground. Only do this when you’re really craving attention. You can even go to a different, albeit more painful and long-lasting route by pretending that’s how you walk. You might alternate ankle rolls with every step you take. People will pity you, but they won’t think you’re uncoordinated or ungraceful.

Practice - Now, most importantly, if you want to be the most elegant and smoothest walker, practice makes perfect! Walk as much as you can. Walk with your head held high. Also seek out areas with flat walking surfaces and limited amounts of rocks. And, remember, no matter how many times you trip...stand tall and never give up.

Monday, February 3, 2014

Dear Mrs Winnie R Parker

You will never believe what happened to me? The best news ever...I am about to be a millionaire.

No, I didn't win the lottery. No, I did have a streak of luck at the Craps table. In fact, I didn't do anything. Well, anything other than check my email. And there it was, an email from my dear friend Winnie R. Parker telling me she is going to make me a millionaire. And I don't have to do anything except give her a little information.

Sounds too good to be true? Well it's not...Look, here is the email she sent me.

Hello my dear,

I am Mrs Winnie R. Parker, a banker and manager of Audit & Accounts department in our Bank. I used to be a personal account manager to the late Mr. David Paul, our Bank customer who was recently involved in the ill fated Kenya Airways crash in Africa.

As his account officer, hearing the report of his death, I made many inquiries to trace the extended family relatives to come forward to claim their inheritance but my efforts were aborted. It was during one of my research I came across your email address and now decided to appoint you as the next of kin in order to claim said deposited fund with our Bank which is at a summary of US$8.5 millions United States Dollars.

I am giving you this vital and confidential information in order to make a deal with you and get this fund transfered to you as the recipient and beneficiary since you are a foriegn person. You will take 60% and give me 40% after the transfer to your account. Therefore, if you are ready to cooperate with me, then please email me back with the necessary particulars below;

Your full Name:
Age: Sex: & Marital Status:
Address with contact telephone and fax numbers:
A Copy of your passport or driving licence.

To enable me introduce you to the bank as the new beneficiary/ recipient of the funds. If you can handlle this, then reach me back urgently. Thank you for your anticipated cooperation.

Mrs Winnie R Parker

Awesome, right? Here is what I wrote back to Mrs Winnie.

My dearest Winnie,

No. Effing. Way. You just made my day. $8.5 millions dollars!! You are making all my dreams come true. 

It was so nice of you to appoint me the next of kin to the dearly departed Mr. Paul. I must confess, I did some research and found no information on that ill fated Kenya Airways flight. I also find your methods of determining a beneficiary quite unusual and find it curious that you have the authority to dispense of his funds in such a manner. However, I have never been to Africa, so perhaps this is standard operating procedure when a millionaire dies and there are no relatives to receive the inheritance. And you do sound most official with the capitalization of the word Bank and Audit & Accounts, which gives me great confidence that you, my dear Winnie, work for a legitimate institution and are in no way trying to scam me.

I hope you do not take any offense to my initial suspicions. I was not trying to imply you are anything other than a most ethical and upstanding citizen, it’s just that us foreigners have to be careful! There are so many crazy emails floating around out there asking for our personal information, and if it were to fall into the wrong hands our identity could be stolen and our funds completely wiped out.

But I am confident this is not one of those emails and I will gladly supply you with ALL my information. Please process this as soon as possible as I have already quit my job and taken out a loan to purchase my own personal island in the Caribbean. I look forward to the day you can join me on my island Winnie, where we will sip Mai Tais and bask in our new-found wealth.

Your full Name: My name is slightly unusual and often confuses people, so I’ll break it down for you. 
First Name: Ivant - Middle Name: Mai-identiti - Last Name: Stowlen
Age: Old Enough to Know Better 
Sex: Doggie Style. All day. Every day.
Marital Status: Married, but we have an OPEN marriage, wink wink.
Address: 1234 I’m An Idiot Street, Canada
Contact telephone: 1 800 753-273-7253-255-696-0639. Whew! That’s a long one. I’ve come up with this acronym to help you remember - 1 800 PleaseTakeAllMyMoney 
Fax numbers: I don’t have one fax number let alone multiple fax numbers. I do hope this won’t be a problem. If it is, please let me know. I will gladly run out and get a fax machine and as many fax numbers as you need.
Occupation: Goddess of Sarcasm
Nationality: Ooh...I don’t feel comfortable giving this out. A little too personal for me. Surely you can proceed without this information.

A Copy of your passport or driving licence: Sure, no problem. While I’m at it, let me give you my bank account number and Social Insurance Number. You know, just in case you need it. I really don’t want anything to hold up this transaction.

No need to thank me for my cooperation dear Winnie. It is I who should be thanking you. And I do. From the bottom of my stolen identity. I mean, heart.

See you in paradise,

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